


last ones out

by gravitys (city135)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Afterlife, Death, Ghosts, M/M, ambiguous setting, ambiguous time period
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 01:14:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18355586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/city135/pseuds/gravitys
Summary: Lee Taeyong. How many years — decades — has it been since he uttered that name?





	last ones out

**Author's Note:**

> something quick and experimental because i recently fell in love with mitski's 'be the cowboy' album. 
> 
> inspired by the song '[two slow dancers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KUfkfJfsKrc)' (though it may not follow the meaning/lyrics exactly) and in some ways, the drama ‘goblin: the lonely and great god’. 
> 
> i highly recommend listening to the song before/while reading!!
> 
> (note: previous ao3 name was starblossoms)

Doyoung has had time to imagine what would happen after he dies.

He’s had time to wonder if everything just ends after his last breath, or if there really is more beyond the physical body. Is there a heaven? Bright lights, white clothes, a golden gate in the clouds, welcoming yet intimidating before his soul is weighed? Or would there be something else? Another life, another body to live in, another mind to record new memories and learn new things? Or would his consciousness take another form, wander earth until the end of time?

He learns that none of these theories, these beliefs, are exactly right, nor are they wrong.

“What is this place?” Doyoung stands before two solid metal doors, dark brown, a silver bar in the center of each — push to enter. For all his hypothesizing, he hadn’t once imagined something as mundane as this.

The man by his side — the reaper — smiles, full lips curving upwards. His black robes shift as he gestures forward, urging Doyoung to open the door. “You know this place, you know it very well.”

Doyoung frowns, but he places his hands tentatively on the bar, and looks down at his fingers. They’ve become brittle with use and age, and now they’re translucent as well, with a blue-ish tint. An intermediate state, the reaper told him. He’s dead, but he hasn’t fully passed. He was told that there is still one more thing he has to do on earth.

Doyoung isn’t sure what. He’s lived a full life, a fulfilling one too. Maybe he didn’t live up to what was expected of him, but he was fine with that. His students gave him joy, as did his parents and his brother for as long as they lived. His life had not been perfect, but for the most part — he had been happy.

But if a divine being is telling him there’s something left for him to complete, who is Doyoung to question it?

He presses down on the bar and slowly pushes the door open. In his later years, his memory had become faulty — names, places, people, and events escaping him. But as light spills through the growing gap, as he takes in the large, open space, Doyoung’s breath hitches and he recalls with striking clarity: Soonyoung all but dragging him by the arm, uniform sticking to his back because it had been especially hot that day. Volleyball would be fun, his friend had insisted, he should try it out once before giving up on the idea completely in favor of some other after school activity.

He remembers the squeak of shoes against the floor, that distinct musty smell of a school gymnasium mixed in with the scent of cleaning supplies, the high ceiling and bright lights.

He remembers seeing another boy, looking as out of place as Doyoung felt. To say he was handsome would be an understatement. Large, piercing eyes, a strong nose, a sharp jaw, lips that looked like they were chiseled by a master sculptor with love and care.

“Remember,” the reaper says. “This is where you met Lee Taeyong.”

Doyoung takes a breath. He wonders, for a moment, if such a biological function is necessary in this state.

The gym feels smaller than he remembers, he has grown since he was fifteen, after all. Yet it seems to stretch on beyond what he can see. It doesn’t feel entirely real.  

“Lee Taeyong,” Doyoung says, testing the syllables on his tongue. How many years — decades — has it been since he uttered that name?

Lee Taeyong who had a laugh that made Doyoung’s heart flutter in his chest, Taeyong whose hands were rough and dry and fit against Doyoung’s perfectly, Taeyong who would tease him with stars in his eyes, would lay back in the grass with him under the moon and give him the most gentle smile while the two of them whispered about things like dreams and hopes and worries.

(Taeyong had said he wanted to open his own bakery, create delicate pastries that could make people smile. Doyoung had told him he enjoyed baking too, and wondered if Taeyong’s mouth was as sweet as all the candy he liked to eat.)

“But, why?” Doyoung turns to the reaper. He looks odd, anachronistic standing next to a pole meant to hold up a volleyball net.

Why did he bring him here? Why bring up Taeyong against after all this time?

“Find out for yourself,” the reaper simply says. He raises a graceful hand, and when Doyoung looks to the end of the gym again, there’s a figure there. A figure like him, whispy and blue.

“Ah, Youngho,” the figure says, voice a little gravley. “Thank you for helping this old man out.”

He crosses the floor seamlessly, and with each step he takes, Doyoung feels his heart inching up his throat, because could it really be? Surely it cannot be?

The man before him is thin and frail, one knee locked despite his easy movements, just meager tufts of hair remaining on the sides of his head, but the mild, polite smile, and those eyes — it’s undeniable.

“Taeyong.” It comes out as a gasp, a little strangled. Doyoung blinks, and there must be a flicker of light, because for a moment he sees the sixteen year old he fell in love with a lifetime ago right in front of him.

“Doyoungie,” Taeyong says softly, and his voice may have changed with age, but the lilt to his voice is so familiar and warm, Doyoung can feel something in his chest crumble and break, all that longing he had bottled up and forgotten about now rushing out and filling him up.

Doyoung has heard before — a person never truly forgets their first love. Doyoung thinks that it’s half true. He may have moved on, may have fallen in and out of love again, and loved other people without Lee Taeyong in mind. But that very visceral feeling, that same sensation of butterflies, the sweaty palms and the juvenile thoughts from when he was a teenager all comes rushing back.

He takes a step forward, then another, and another, until Taeyong is right in front of him, and Doyoung can see every wrinkle, every fine line on his face. He’s still devastatingly beautiful.

“I can’t believe it’s you,” Doyoung murmurs. He reaches out with a tentative, trembling hand, and places it one Taeyong’s shoulder. He’s solid and real — or as real as he can be in this state — under Doyoung’s palm.

Taeyong reaches out for Doyoung’s other hand, loosely wraps his fingers around Doyoung’s wrist. “I missed you, Doyoung.”

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, after…” After they completed high school, Taeyong’s family had arranged for him to marry. He was to be engaged while completing university, then he was to marry after graduation. It was business, and above that — it was his duty as a son.

The wedding was as beautiful as one should be. Doyoung doesn’t remember much from it — just the moment Taeyong had pulled him in for hug and held him maybe a few seconds longer than he should have.

“It was difficult to get a hold of you,” Taeyong says softly. His grip tightens a little. “It hurt, honestly, to lose my best friend like that.”

And it had hurt Doyoung to have the love of his life just an arm length away and completely untouchable. “I’m sorry,” he says. And he really is. He wishes he could have been stronger and accepted his place in Taeyong’s life. But Doyoung had been twenty two, not ready to let himself shatter, so he had patched up the cracks and told himself moving on would be best for the both of them. And he had gotten over it — his infatuation, his longing and affection. He had healed. But before Taeyong was the person he loved, he was his closest friend. Doyoung met lots of people in his life, but there wasn’t anyone else quite like Taeyong. Leaving so suddenly was a mistake. “I am truly sorry.”

“I forgive you.” Taeyong smiles. His eyes crinkle at the corners. “I forgave you a long time ago.”

“I thought about sending you a letter. I have — I have many letters, addressed to you, that I never sent out. I wondered how you were, if you ever opened up that bakery.” His fingers curl into the material of Taeyong’s sweater for a moment before relaxing. “Did you...Live a good life?”

“I’ve had many regrets in life, as many people do. But there was one thing I’ve always wanted to do.” Taeyong pauses. And yes, Doyoung recalls, the reaper — Youngho — told him that souls stayed in this partial, ghost-like form when there was still something they yearned for, something they felt they needed to do. How long had Taeyong waited? “I wanted to tell you I was in love with you, back in school.”

Doyoung doesn’t realize until he sees Taeyong’s eyes widen and he brings a hand up to cup his cheek — that he’s crying. “I loved you, too, Taeyong,” Doyoung says in a rush, words spilling out of his mouth faster than he can think. This time, there’s nothing to be afraid of, he has nothing to lose. “I loved you so much, Taeyong.”

He slides his hand, shyly, to hold Taeyong’s face in his palm, brushes his finger against Taeyong’s cheek bone, over the delicate skin underneath his eye. He gently frees his other hand to cup Taeyong’s other cheek, thumb resting at the corner of his mouth.

Taeyong lets out a watery laugh, eyes shining. He gently pulls Doyoung down closer until his forehead is resting on Taeyong’s own. “I’m so happy — I can finally tell you.”

“I am too, so thankful to even just see you again.” Doyoung swallows hard. “I’m sorry, Taeyong.”

Taeyong shushes him and wraps his other arm around Doyoung’s waist. “Don’t apologize anymore, just be with me now.” And they breathe like that, inhale and exhale, and Doyoung tries focuses on the present, the _now_ instead of the _what ifs_. He takes in Taeyong’s warmth, basks in how comfortable just standing in silence with him is, until Taeyong murmurs something in the space between their lips.

“Dance with me, Doyoung?”

“Dance?” Doyoung lets out a soft chortle. “Now, you know I’ve never liked dancing. I’m no good at it. There’s no music, either.”

“Sing to me, then?”

Doyoung doesn’t sing the way he used to, but he can carry a rhythm, and he smiles when Taeyong starts to move, guiding him. It’s nothing complicated, just a simple step to the side, back to the center, then to the side again.

“At the time, I thought it would be better if I left,” Doyoung says softly when he runs out of lyrics. “I kept telling myself it made sense. But I was foolish, wasn’t I?”

“You were supposed to be the smarter one between us, Doyoungie,” Taeyong says mildly. He rubs slow circles into Doyoung’s lower back. “But we don’t need to dwell on that anymore. Just be with me now,” he repeats.

And he’s matured, mellowed out — of course he has. They’ve both grown and changed so much in seventy years.

“I didn’t end up opening a bakery,” Taeyong continues. “But I did spend a lot of my time cooking and eating good food, just like I wanted.”

“Remember we once tried to make — oh, what was it? Crepes, right?” Doyoung lets himself chuckle. “You spent such a long time just finding a good recipe, and then you ended up eating all the berries before we could finish.”

Taeyong scoffs, a smile lighting up his face. “I couldn’t help it! They were delicious.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Doyoung teases. “You didn’t leave any for me.”

Taeyong laughs, high and bright. He looks at Doyoung with an open fondness that Doyoung might have been flustered by before. Now he gazes back, letting his affection show clearly on his face.

“Isn’t it funny — how I always said you were like a grandfather, and now we meet again like this?” Doyoung finds Taeyong’s hand, intertwines their fingers. “You’re still very handsome, by the way.”

Taeyong ducks his head, a little shy, the way he always did. “You are, too. Everything about you has always been so beautiful, Doyoung.”

He’s almost surprised how easy it is to fall into conversation with Taeyong again, talking like they’ve been transported to that same grassy field near Doyoung’s home, staring up at the sky and pointing out the stars after they had finished studying. But it’s Taeyong — it’s always been so easy with him.

They sway together, no longer stepping side to side, for what feels like could be an eternity, until a voice gently interrupts them, the reaper making his presence known again.

“It’s time,” Youngho informs them, serious but not unkind.

Doyoung thinks for a moment that losing Taeyong for a second time would be just as heartbreaking as the first, but something deep in his bones has settled. He feels content.

Taeyong nods, leans in to tenderly brush his lips against Doyoung’s, simple and sweet. And then he’s squeezing his hand for the last time and pulling away.

“Goodbye, Doyoung.” His smile is warm, sated. “I hope I can see you again — in another life.”

Doyoung nods, feels his lips spread into a grin. “Goodbye.”

_I hope I can love you in that life, too._

 

**Author's Note:**

> i hope this was alright ^^;;;; thank you for reading!


End file.
